Ephemeral
by Utatane
Summary: His life is a whirlwind of worship and hallucinations of a greater being. Au, 8018, T for safety.


This started out as simple practise for writing longer fics, and I guess it grew beyond my control?

Only two thirds of it have been checked over, so I apologise for any mistakes ;w; It still feels too rushed, despite being over 12000 words, but whatever.

Also I'd really appreciate just going with the setting. It wasn't meant to be anywhere in particular ;w;b

**This is for Jess **

* * *

Erosion is as natural a force as they come; the tides of a river thousands of years ago forms canyons, landmasses of those who inhabit the earth to this very day, and beyond by another few millennia. Water was perhaps the most effective of elements in this respect; it gave men life, it gave them safety and tactical advantage also, but most of all, it brought change with each wave, each drop, ebb and flow of the tide crashing onto the shores. Even the mighty Earth crumbles before water, though together they solidify masses; if the people of the Yamamoto clan were the earth in this particular metaphor, then the god they worshipped was water, and the unifying process of life, death and everything in between. Without their God's approval, their crops would not grow, and without a calm ocean, they could not cast their nets for fish. Without tradable items, they could not procure vital supplies, so in the end, it all came down to pleasing the God that gave them life in order to prolong it.

Once a year, offerings were given to the temple seated along the water's edge, separated from their little clan but close enough to keep a watchful eye over them all. Serene did not cover the effect upon the clansmen, knowing that their protector was ever ready to step up against fellow natural forces, and indeed, some could argue that sedation was too strong. Opinions varied from generation to generation, as they tend to do, though each and every one of the seaside dwellers knew to revere the seldom seen spirit that inhabited the temple. The God brought them life, so they should be grateful for the opportunity to please the God, and that was all that mattered as they entered the final stage of preparations for the annual offering ceremony.

This year was going to be special, though; the traditional dancer that led the offering procession was drawn through random selection, a process the clansmen liked to believe was all down to fate, wherein coincidence of choice occurred. Regardless, this year, the Chief's Son was chosen above all others, inciting local interest; it had been many years since a true blooded Yamamoto male had been the one to dance to God's doors, and none were as finely built as Takeshi. Twittering of interest raging from the old to the young, from the little boys he helped teach the art of the waves to, to the old wives who watched everything, eyes keener than hawks; Takeshi had always been marked down for something special, they muttered now, smoke from the tea made from a dozen different herbs with medical properties and wholesome flavours alike covering their faces, drifting off into the air with a touch of condensation for the mortals who dared speak of fate. Takeshi would always be fated for more, and it seemed the Gods had deemed now the perfect time for the process to begin.

He spends his mornings in the water, wading out to the perfect depth to remain safe yet unhidden by the creatures below, the flurry of fish around his feet providing a sensation not unlike tickling that brings a gentle laugh to his lips, muffled by his hand upon catching the raised eyebrow his father gives from the shore. As the seasons begin, the clan leaders must initiate the searches for food, something Takeshi views as yet another tradition in a long walk to becoming the chief himself someday. There are enough of them to last a lifetime of learning, but it's something he's learnt to take in his stride, with a wide smile and eyes ever warm.

"Slowly, Takeshi…"

As his father takes a sip of his tea, legs crosses and eyes watching the leaves within the brew spin at his interruption, Takeshi stands still, taking deep breaths. The key, he has been taught, is becoming the water itself; ebbing and flowing with each wave, he should not interrupt the natural forces beyond what they need, lest they anger the God with their greed.

"Like the waves…"

His smile is gentle as his breathing slows, drops off the radar entirely, and as he finally stills, entirely at ease with the world, his father wears the same smile. He has come on in leaps and bounds, Tsuyoshi knows, and it is here that he agrees with the elderly women; Takeshi will lead the clan to great things, for it must be written in the stars. As Takeshi becomes one with the water, he lifts the speared stick in his hand, mumbles a small prayer for success and, eyes closed, drops it into the water below. As he opens his eyes, there is a small fish wiggling upon the end; try as he might, he cannot help the unease at seeing the blood pour from the wound he has inflicted upon the poor thing, watching it spiral around, mapping the weak currents of the water below until the sight is clouded entirely by red. Quickly jerking the fish out of the water, he turns and presents it to his father.

"Is this good enough for today, father..?"

As ever, something in his tone betrays him; Tsuyoshi's eyebrows rise into his greying hairline, moving from the slowing wiggling of the speared fish to Takeshi, until, finally, back at his tea with a small smile.

"You've learnt something, at least."

Somehow, Takeshi is almost offended by the 'at least', but it's too be expected; his father is displeased, not with his son but with the particular trait he has bred within his son to dislike the sight of blood, even when necessary for survival. To feed the tribe, they must kill, and while many may not think of fish as particularly high on the ladder of important life forms, Takeshi has always been that little bit more sensitive to death than the others. Standing, beckoning his son forward, Tsuyoshi notes with a wry smile that this is what makes his son special; he values each and every life within their habitat, yet knows what must be done to protect the clan.

As Takeshi stands before him, almost taller than him but not quite a man yet, his father puts a hand on his shoulder, and takes the spear from his son's hands. Giving an affectionate pat of the younger's face, he gestures towards their village.

"I'm sure you have better things to be doing today than playing in the waves. Don't forget to remind the young ones that the temple must be scrubbed clean before we summon the God with our offerings."

Takeshi frowns, almost about to question the logic, considering the God was supposed to be watching over them all the time and would, therefore, see the temple in all of the states whether in residence or not, but he quickly shrugs it off.

"Sure."

Picking up his sandals, not wanting to put them on until the sand now clinging to the arches of his feet has disappeared, he bows his head to his father, hands pressed in a clumsy prayer as he turns to walk along the hewn path, towards the temple in question. He hears the young boys before he sees them, a cacophony of high pitched laughter and footsteps and, as evidenced when he rounds the corner with a raised eyebrow, they abandon cleaning duties to use the brooms as swords, attacking some sort of ship with a princess or something, he just does not understand what is happening. Oh well; sweeping up the nearest child, a young brunette called Tsunayoshi, he laughs as the boy squeaks, though it quickly dissolves into another infectious giggle as Takeshi holds him upside down.

"You're supposed to be cleaning, boys. Do you need some help?"

As Tsunayoshi struggles to get down, still giggling, the other two boys run up, out of breath, both of fairer hair than the usual Yamamoto genes allow. Takeshi knows this to be the effect of marriages outside of the clan, though; the youngest, Hayato, had an ancestor from the Gokudera clan, whereas Ryohei is the direct result of a travelling priest enjoying the village life too much to leave. With all three of the boys before him, Takeshi suspects that the Water God they obey will have a breather from the noise. Not all found their laughter infectious, after all, and he knows for certain his own grandfather would throw the nearest sharp object in order to make them shut up. Why would a God be any different? Takeshi would be annoyed, too, if his temple was being neglected for pirates and shenanigans.

"We can manage without you, idiot!"

Sticking his tongue out, Hayato kicks his leg, but Takeshi had anticipated that response the moment he picked Tsunayoshi up. The feisty boy had a strange attachment to the son of their most revered combat specialist, and really, Takeshi would feel the same were he that age too. Tsunayoshi had a gentle smile that somewhat reminded him of his mother, may her soul rest in peace; it filled you with warmth with a single glance. Carefully plopping the boy on his feet once more, he is treated with one of these smiles.

"Takeshi.. Hayato is sorry for kicking you. Aren't you, Hayato?"

The struggle of the named boy was interesting to watch to say the least; he flitted over anger towards Takeshi simply for existing to adoration of the brunette, apparently deciding that Tsunayoshi's opinion was more important than his pride as he hung his head.

"…Yes.. I guess…"

He didn't sound very convinced, but Takeshi didn't need much prompting to ruffle the near-silver hair he sported, wide grin in place. This kid was adorable, even if most of the elders seemed to think he was a storm, waiting to destroy; all a storm was, though, was a lot of wind and a little rain. If they worked on diverting the wind, wasn't rain exactly what they gave offering for? Hayato wasn't a bad kid, he was just frustrated. There was nothing wrong with not knowing how you could fit into somewhere when you weren't a full native, was there?

Of course, Hayato takes everything, even the simplest action with a pinch of lemon and a full blown reaction; hissing, he opens his mouth, leaning up as if to bite the hand, eyes set in fury before they catch glimpse of Tsunayoshi's concerned ones. Muttering numerous unkind things in the language he picked up from his mother's side of the family, he leans back on his feet, crossing his arms with a pout on his face.

"Hayato, that's not a manly expression."

Puffing out his chest, Ryohei grins a toothy grin in the silver haired youngster's direction, chest puffed out and hands on his hips. Kneeling down carefully, so that he's eye level, Takeshi notes the small mark across Ryohei's nose with his own frown, leaning over to gently touch the mark. Ah, just dirt… Thank god. Then again, if anyone was bound to get injured somehow, besides Tsunayoshi with his clumsy streak, it would be Ryohei; he was, after all, the type of kid to pick a fight with air simply for blowing in his face, bless him.

"Shut up, seaweed head."

"My head is not seaweed!"

"No, but your brain is."

Slipping between them before a fight starts, he presses a finger to both of their lips, making a loud shushing noise. Beside him, Tsunayoshi mimics the action with another light giggle, and Takeshi almost abandons his action to just hug the boy. Once he is sure the boys are quiet, and their attention is on him rather than each other and ripping the other apart, he begins, whispering in a clear voice.

"…You shouldn't be so violent when beside the temple of our God. You never know when he may be watching, after all.."

At this, Hayato has the grace to look bashful, whereas Ryohei looks plain freaked out, glancing at the temple with worry on his brow.

"T-T-The Water God i-is, um… Watching us? All of the time..?"

Ah, the horrified grimace of youth over thinking things. Perhaps Takeshi had just accidentally given the boy nightmares for a while. Whoops. Remind him to think things through before blurting them out; that may actually be a good thing to practise, alongside the dances he must prepare for a month's time. He can't be a good leader if he can't talk to the villagers without giving them chronic nightmares, after all.

"Well… No. Only when you disturb his peace."

Because their God was old, right? Takeshi had never met an old person who didn't complain when their peace was disturbed, so it made sense, in a way, that being so noisy outside of the temple would be disrespectful, among other things. To make a noise would be to attract the attention of their god before they were ready to present themselves as worthy, but Takeshi couldn't explain that to the children. He doubted they'd understand; or, rather, even if they did understand, these three were notorious for getting into trouble. In fact, why had they been assigned to clean the temple considering their carnage was usually legendary?

"Anyway, boys, if you're not going to clean, I suggest that you go home and help your parents out with preparations. Hayato, could you tell your sister I'll be along later to practise?"

Nodding, Hayato takes Tsunayoshi's wrist into his hands, tugging the brunette along while sticking his tongue out at Ryohei.

"You're not welcome any more, seaweed brain."

And so the fight continued as they abandoned their brooms and ran down the road, towards their temple, Tsunayoshi in the middle in all ways possible as they disappear from sight. Shaking his head a little, eyebrow firmly raised, Takeshi keeps a look between amusement and baffled curiosity on his face as he turns, and takes their job on as his own. Neatly stacking the brooms up, he washes his feet carefully, dries them with the provided towel and examines them. It would not do to track sand and other debris into the temple as he attempts to wash it, now, would it?

As he begins to brush the initial layer of dust from the steps, though, his ears pick out a soft noise; a chirp, he thinks, bemused. Some poor little winged thing is chirping, most likely for it's mother, considering the time of year. Giving a gentle sigh, he closes his eyes and continues his work, because there's a lot to do and Takeshi would rather be cleaning the temple than learning the dance, any day. Shigure Soen Ryu is a dance form passed from generation to generation; each branch of the clan has their own dance, yet only one knows them all. Groaning to himself at the thought of the demon he will be meeting later for lessons, he leans his head upon the broom's stick and rests for a moment, lost in thought as the chirping grows harder to ignore. Eventually, it gets too insistent to ignore for much longer, and as Takeshi opens his eyes, he learns that it is because a small ball of yellow fluff is circling around his head, a distance of around two meters kept at all times. Seeing that it finally has Takeshi's attention, the fluff barrel rolls towards his head, landing upon his raven locks and gently pecking his head.

"O-Ow... Well... Hello there?"

He's talking to a bird. Maybe the pressure has gotten to him after all; pleasing a God places a lot of expectation upon his shoulders, after all, and he has heard tales of those from faraway clans going insane under their specific deity's requirements. Sparing a moment to thank god that his clan offers entertainment and worship rather than the human sacrifices he has heard tales of, he looks up at the bird, going a little dizzy as his vision crosses over. Chirping gently, the bird starts off with a small tune, a little motif repeating itself, over and over again.

"I'm sorry, Mr Bird. I don't speak… Bird."

Frowning at himself, he gives a gentle shrug, careful to not displace the bird atop his head. It's a cute little thing, but not a species he's seen before; oh well. Life is a learning curve, after all, and Takeshi is happy to see new things, even if he is so confused over why this one seems to like him so much. As he opens his mouth to speak again, another quiet sound chips in, the gentle coo of an animal in pain; in response, the yellow bird increases the volume of it's song, something Takeshi is starting to recognise. It resembles, somewhat, the refrain of _Gofuu Juuu_, the part of the ceremony the villagers give thanks their God for fair weather, for the right to breath fair winds; with a wry smile, he closes his eyes, arching a foot in a circle, imagining the feel of his partner's body as he slides his arm around the curve of her waist, gently cupping the air, careful to not drop too low. Disrespect to another would be noted, he figured, and as this dance was to be his first major event as the future chief, such things would be observed with the sharpness usually found on the edge of a blade. His partner was, to the best of his understanding, his tutor; the beautiful Bianchi, Hayato's older sister, who resembled those of the Gokudera Clan more profoundly than any other Takeshi had ever seen. With a deep breath, he imagines her against him, foot sweeping a slow circle in the dirt as he begins the dance of the May Winds.

He leans into his partner's body, gently, gracefully sweeps them around and allows the fabric of the ceremonial Kimono she will wear to flash their full brilliance in front of their audience. They will be draped in the blue of the sky, the green of the sea as the sun flashes across it at sunset, silver thread illustrating birds, waves, clouds. All of these things and more, their God can manipulate to give favourable circumstances, so each and every one of them, they shall pay tribute to. As they move together, stealing each other's breath in a balancing act, their feet will barely touch the ground; silent, gentle and evasive, like the May Wind itself as the fertilization of crops ends for another year. By May, buds of life will be sprouting across all of their fields; to blow the buds means to risk their death, and to risk their death means a loss of crops to feed the village with. At least, this is the lesson Bianchi has taught him; knowing her, it's just another story to keep him wide eyed and on his guard, learning passionately the dances to stall their village's demise.

As he leans his imaginary partner forward, and this particular segment of the dance ends, he comes to his senses in time to realise that the bird on his head has stopped singing; as he looks upwards, he finds it peering down at him from above, and he swears that if birds could smile, this one would be. Giving a small cough of embarrassment, he mutters an apology to the bird. Just because it cannot understand doesn't mean that he should forget his manners, right?

Hopping off his head, the bird flies through Takeshi's partner's chest, and even though she is not there before him, the raven haired boy snaps his gaze upwards, in case she takes it upon herself to punish him for blatant disrespect. For all her elegant beauty, she can be a demon in ways Takeshi does not think he will ever understand. Perhaps all girls are like that, though; then again, Ryohei's older sister isn't like that at all… Women work in mysterious ways indeed, he decides, straightening up as the bird hops across the ground after landing, turning its head to make sure Takeshi was watching still. Gradually, the bird moves towards the long grass across from them, something Takeshi had always assumed was there for decorative purpose only.

Now, he is more aware of the weakened cooing of the bird he had previously heard, and his initial reaction is that of surprise; it sounds like it is intense pain, so that it has managed to hang onto life is amazing. The second is guilt; if he had reacted sooner, would he have been able to help the bird, nurse it back to health? The third, of course, is to stumble through the grass until he comes to a little plane, lead onwards by the yellow ball of fluff, eyes immediately going to a black bird laying, smack in the middle, giving the gentlest of coos as it moves his head, just a little, to stare at the new arrivals. Instantly, the yellow bird flies over, giving a concerned tweet as it nuzzles into the black bird, but Takeshi is too stunned by the amazing hostility in the black bird's eyes to notice the way it pushes itself up, hops a little and collapses onto the yellow bird, giving a shiver he's never seen in an animal before. The yellow fluff looks towards him, now, and again, he is fixed with an almost human emotion; Takeshi knows a cry of help when he sees one, though, no matter the species who gives it, so it takes all of a second for him to skid over, on his knees, and gently cradle the black bird to his chest. Now, he can recognise the species; a skylark, his mother's favourite, though he has never seen one naturally this shade before. Don't they usually have speckled breasts?

Now, though, is no time to go into deep thought about something so irrelevant; the skylark may not last much longer, considering how weakly is struggles against him. Dropping his voice to a low murmur, he offers a hand for the yellow bird too, transferring it to his shoulder after it hops upon his palm.

"It's okay, little guy… I'm going to make you better again."

Eyes on the path back to the village, he walks quickly, not quite running out of not wanting to discomfort the carefully cradled bird in his arms, nor to shove off the yellow bird with the wind. Hurrying a little more as he approaches the group of houses that make up his home, he scans them all, quickly identifying the one he wishes to invade at this point in time; bursting in on Kurokawa's home, he pants as he stares at the woman before him.

"H-Hana, I'm sorry for the intrusion, but.."

"Takeshi."

Her voice is stern enough to make him wince; behind her, Kyoko, Ryohei's older sister, gives a little wave before going back to attending to the hunting dog whom leg she is bandaging. Hanging his head to the older raven, he carefully shifts the bird so that she can see it, and he swears to god he can almost hear her soften.

"…I see… Put it on the table, then. I'll have a look.."

Doing as he's told, Takeshi wrings his hands; the skylark is no longer making any noise, and while he may not be a healer like these two women, he's almost certain that it isn't a good sign. Concerned, the woman, presses a careful finger against the bird's chest, moving to open its mouth, and to Takeshi's surprise it doesn't attempt to bite her finger off. Instead, she is able to examine the skylark carefully, before giving a relieved sigh.

"I think the poor guy is just malnourished. I'll make you some weak painkiller to feed to him everyday, but in general, just give him water and some seed, gradually building up the amount."

Relieved, he bows to her.

"Thank you, so much... How much do I owe you?"

Waving her hand back and forth, she moves to prepare the painkiller for him.

"Just keep a close eye on him. If he dies, I'll charge you for it."

Wincing a little, he nods; taking the little vial of painkiller, he walks out a little happier, heading home to prepare some space for the bird to rest. Bianchi won't mind too much if he's late to practise, right? She'll understand that, as a human being, he couldn't just sit by and watch a poor bird die.

He tries to not think about how much the twittering of the bird upon his head sounds like laughter.

* * *

That night, with the birds nuzzled together almost protectively in a small, fur-lined box upon his pillow, Takeshi finds himself in the arms of a rather bizarre, almost realistic dream. Never has he dreamt of anything that wasn't based on memories so vividly, and as he awakes, gasping for air and grasping at details, he presses a hand against his forehead as his breath comes back to him, attempting to recall the exact happenstances within it.

It had been night time; if the darkened skies and twinkling stars above weren't enough of an indication, the moon, large and pale above his head, would have been. It was the type of night he would love to wake up to find, the type of night you could walk for miles in any direction with nothing but your thoughts and the clear skies above, content with the world and nature in all of its beauty. Well. Takeshi could, anyway.

Standing below the moon, he allowed himself to take in the sheer ethereal nature to the scene; sitting upon the sand he found himself upon, his hands grip in the silky feeling, gritting a few pieces between his thumbs and forefingers as he sighs, relaxing upon the scene. If only he had time to do this in places that weren't profoundly unreal; how long had it been since he had been able to truly relax like this, alone with nothing but himself? Expectations of chirpy Takeshi, future leader of them all, led to even his sleeping patterns being dictated; his father didn't know that Takeshi was well aware of the casual visits paid into his bedroom by various guards, to make sure he was safe and obeying his father's wishes. He didn't bear any bad will; he knew it was all down to concern for his well being, but gosh. They could at least be a little quieter; most of the times, he's woken up by them. Then again, to be fair... He does have a reputation as a deep sleeper, so he can't really blame anyone.

Sighing, he moves his hands further back, eventually sinking his whole body onto the sand. Much more relaxed, he stares up at the suspiciously bright stars for a moment more as his eyes slowly close, on the verge of sleeping even in a dream. The moon flickers out, then, and the shock is enough to jolt him upwards, wide-eyed in wonderland as the stars appear to fall. This is when he realises that they aren't stars, they were never stars; as the white lights come closer, spiralling downwards in an ever growing cascade, Takeshi can see skylarks as far as the eye can see, pure white and offering only confusion. So many birds are plaguing him lately, is this supposed to be a sign from God?

As he continues to stare, the birds take on a formation, almost fluttering down to meet him; as a frown crosses his brow, they appear to become paper cranes, settling over the water beside him; the sea becomes an ocean of white as, one by one, the cranes float to shore, miraculously unharmed by the waves. Bending down to pick one up, he unfolds it carefully, only for a skylark to emerge from the folds of the paper, initiating a heart attack he's lucky to not actually suffer from.

One by one, the skylarks emerge from the cranes once more, leaving Takeshi to wonder what the point of them becoming paper cranes was to begin with. There must be a thousand of them circling the air above his head, their direction sent for further down the beach where, he notes, the temple stands. Or should; as they file into formation, and as each piece is added to the puzzle frame, the temple rises from the proverbial ashes, a gleaming beacon in the darkened sky.

A familiar chirping reaches his ears, and like the moment he came into contact with the yellow ball of fluff, he appears to be whistling out a song as it spirals towards him. Sharp and spiky notes sound, and Yamamoto almost moves his feet to the beat of Samidare, a quick step with lots of dramatic moves; almost on instinct, his arms rise, and as his hands are taken from behind, he almost screams.

The hands are firm, yet barely there all the same; they're certainly larger than his own, but in the slimmest possible way, and if he didn't catch a recognisably masculine voice chuckling lightly just behind his ear, he would be close to declaring them the hands of a female. As he is pulled flush against another body, he tilts his head to glimpse this image his subconscious has constructed, but all that meets his eyes are feathers, shrouding features Takeshi's perked interest just cannot wait to see. All that is visible are a pair of eyes, sharp grey and smirking at him, and, gosh, what a smirk it is.

The ball of fluff sings the song ever louder, and as Takeshi is pulled into the familiar sway of the early summer rain his body runs on automatic, his eyes never leaving the silver before him. Should the man talk, Takeshi would suspect his tongue to be of the same quality, with words as smooth as the soothing water particles raining down on them from the sky as they dance tribute.

They fly through the steps, and every time a particular pirouette drags Takeshi's gaze from the man's, his heart aches, with a sweet sensation bursting inside of his chest every time they reconnect. His left hand never leaves the man's grip and, sliding into the ending dip, moving towards the transition into the aggressive rains of spring, when the rain stops all together, suspended in animation. Moving upwards, he slides a hand along the curve of the man's jaw, and he's so sure that at this moment, he knows who it is; he knows that he loves this person, but the name eludes him.

He parts his lips to utter the question, but the man talks in a voice that speaks of sin yet offers redemption all at once, as smooth as he imagined it would be yet comforting. This is a man who has edges unknown, and Takeshi knows that comparing him to the sea would be an accurate description; this is a man who will not become the waves, because he is the waves, will not stand as firm as a wall of water because he commands the water, down to the last drop, and the drops all know to obey their master.

He is God, and Takeshi tries to remember his name.

His hand cups gently, and the smirking eyes soften, amused by the boy as he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of Takeshi's ear, breath barely there, and here Takeshi's thoughts had turned to wondering whether God needed to breath or not.

"I think," The Raven spoke softly, feathers dropping one by one as the reality of Takeshi's realisation comes into effect. The only feathers remaining cover his eyes, not unlike a masquerade mask, and as he continues to speak in the voice that promises nothing yet takes everything, the boy relaxes, eyes closing, opening, fighting sleep as reality starts to take him back to Earth. "That I am getting rather tired of viewing the same dance every year."

"But," Here, he grins, teeth as white as the skylarks still glowing in Takeshi's eyelids as he rears back to treat the young one with a sight enough to steal his breath. "I would not protest, if my dance partner was you."

As the last flecks of the sandman's dust drop from his eyelids, amber opens onto normality, and the sense of loss is enough to drag him up, several hours earlier than normal, to sit upon the veranda that faces the sea, watching the waves with a longing he never knew he held within himself. It was just a dream, he tells himself, but it doesn't explain the ghost of lips upon his ear or the vibration of a voice that stops his heart.

A fond sigh leaves his lips, and a sudden weight upon his shoulder alerts him to the presence of the yellow ball of fluff. Giving the bird a small smile, he holds out a finger for it to stand upon instead. Chirping quietly, Takeshi presses a finger against the small beak nonetheless.

"It is not yet dawn, little one... Maybe hold off on the chirping until others will be happy to hear it?"

He swears the bird nods with understanding but, honestly, after that dream nothing would surprise him. Keeping the gentle smile on his face, he sits still, bar his hand as he rests it upon his knee, watching the bird flap his wings. It feels a little childish to sit here and attempt to converse with a bird, but, he reminds himself, he is now pretty much in love with a deity who may or may not exist, so he can probably act however he wants with no more than a batted eyelash in his direction.

The thought brings a sigh to his lips, free hand moving to scrub at eyes begging for more sleep. Can it really be love? It was just a dream, after all, and assumptions are all too quickly made. Not to mention, if their God really is that man with eyes that pierce, then Takeshi is in love with a man, and no matter how understanding his father is, even he has trouble believing that Tsuyoshi would whole heartedly accept his son's feelings in this matter.

After what seems like an eternity, he switches his attention from his thoughts to the night, staring up at the stars and recalling cranes, fluttering down. A small, delighted smile comes to his face as a little giggle bubbles to his lips; he could just imagine the terrified reactions from the villagers if that were to really happen. His father would embrace it, as their family tends to do, with a light hearted laugh and widespread acceptance of just about anything, except, of course, things that would negatively affect morale and/or the village's survival. In fact, come to think of it, Takeshi was very surprised he hadn't been shoved into marriage yet. Smile turning to a worried frown, he looks at the bird to find it asleep, nuzzled into the folds of his yukata. Running a finger along his little back, he gives a wane smile upon receiving a pleased chirp in response.

"You're no help whatsoever…"

Still, he cannot help but be fond of such an amicable animal, though if truth were to be told, there were very few things Takeshi did not actually like, so perhaps it was a bit redundant to think such a thing. The bird was affectionate, though, and surprisingly easy to tempt into interaction. In his experience, birds are usually such aloof creatures, but then again they are sort of eating all of the fish in this area. Takeshi would be pretty annoyed if someone did that to him, so it makes sense.

"What a surprise! I was not expecting you to be awake this early."

Letting out a sound that may or may not have been entirely feminine, he turns with a sheepish grin to greet his father, bowing his head to the older male.

"Mo-Morning, dad…"

Chuckling, Tsuyoshi pats his son's head and moves to sit beside him, tying his hair back to enjoy the dawn approaching. Letting out a soft sigh, he flickers his gaze towards the ball of fluff, gives the little guy a quick stroke of his own and relaxes.

"You have the strangest habit, Takeshi… Every time I stumble across you, you've acquired a new follower. Animals, small children, yet another proposal of marriage from various clans.."

Choking at his father's words, Takeshi manages to turn pale and bright red in the cheeks all at once, bringing a tinge of amusement to the light chuckle Tsuyoshi was already emitting.

"Wh-What?"

"Oh, yes. You're quite popular with young women, son. Just like your father in his youth."

Fighting the urge to gag at the smug tone his father takes on, he huffs, moving the bird to his head and sitting a little more informally as tiredness sets in.

"So.. So why haven't you arranged anything, dad..?"

Shrugging, Tsuyoshi loops an arm around Takeshi's shoulders and gently encourages him to lay his head upon his father's lap. The bird flutters around for a moment, eventually settling upon Tsuyoshi's own head, giving a gentle tweet before sleeping again. Running his fingers through his son's hair, surprised that his boy is awake at this hour, a fond smile plays against his lips.

"…I don't want to force you into something you will not enjoy. There is enough on your shoulders because of me…"

Giving a gentle squeeze of the younger's shoulders, he relaxes, encouraging Takeshi to sleep for a little longer, even if on the porch of their home. The sun should be rising soon, and while he's saddened that the other will not be awake long enough to see the palette that flushes through the sky, there will be other days, and there will be more opportunities for wonder.

"I loved your mother to death, Takeshi, but she is not the one I wanted to marry."

"What?"

Oh, well, he was wide awake now. Mentally chiding himself, Tsuyoshi gives a faint smile.

"Yes. I loved another, but your grandfather, god rest his soul, did not approve. I fell for your mother, of course, but when our engagement was announced, I very nearly eloped."

"Dad… I-I never even thought you'd... I mean, you were both so happy..."

"Oh, we were happy, Takeshi! Don't fret about that. All I mean is… If possible, I'd like for you to be able to marry the one you love, rather than someone I deem appropriate. I don't want to rush you into something you are not prepared for. It is better you sample life for yourself, then return to your fate as the future leader of this clan on your own accord, stronger for your experiences."

"…I love you, dad.."

"I love you too, son."

They remain in silence until well beyond the sun's rising, the sky flooded with pinks, purples and yellow, fading to blue. All the while, Tsuyoshi soothes his son unknowingly, curling fingers through already messy raven locks and not commenting on a thing. As Takeshi slowly drops off again, sleep not lasting long but surprisingly refreshing. He does not dream this time, but as he awakens, he is ever aware of the aubade the bird gives. He sings not of dances, nor do any of the notes he emits invoke the usual, cheery atmosphere the dawn gives. As his eyes open, Takeshi thinks of the chimerical, and the slim possibility that he could be happy with a concept, forevermore.

* * *

By the end of the week, the skylark is able to fly away with no hesitation. Watching the blur of black against the sun drenched landscapes, Takeshi's heart swells; of course he is saddened that his little friend will be leaving him soon, but surely being happy for another beings full recovery is the better thing to do? As the blur of the skylark flying becomes nothing more than a dot in the distance, he lets out a small sigh, gives a sad smile to the drooping ball of yellow, and turns to head home. He doesn't expect the sweet call of the skylark to return to his ears, nor does he expect to be hit in the head by a mass of feathers.

"O-Ow!"

A happy chirping reaches his ears, the skylark peering down from atop his head, and he swears it's smiling somehow. Returning the smile, even as the urge to rub the sore spot rises, he reaches a finger up to rub it's beak gently.

"You should be going home."

Ruffling its wings, it gives a squawk, almost a dismissal of Takeshi's words. Pouting somewhat, he moves to sit on the edge of the porch again, staring up at it.

"If you're staying, I should give you a name, right?"

In fact, he should give both of them names; they don't seem to be going anywhere, after all. Thinking for all of a moment, he grins, lifting his hands for them to hop onto. With both of them seated upon his knees instead, he points to the yellow fluff.

"You shall be Kojirou."

Moving to the skylark, he softens the grin to an affectionate smile.

"…And you are Jirou, cause you're bigger."

It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? The birds seem to swap a look, but Takeshi doesn't notice, giving a happy sigh and leaning back to watch the clouds for a while. They don't resemble anything in particular, but it's calming to observe the shifts in atmosphere nonetheless. Yawning, he relaxes a little too much; when he wakes, the sky is darkened, the birds have flown to feed themselves somewhere, and Takeshi has missed a rehearsal. As dread sets in, he groans, sitting up and rubbing his eyes; Bianchi is going to kill him, and he deserves it. There are only two weeks left until the ceremony, and he has only mastered around half of the moves… Moaning gently, he stumbles up to change, pulling on an old yukata to practise in, grabbing a bottle of sake to bribe Bianchi with as he sprints through the streets. As he arrives at her household, there are telltale signs of war inside, most likely on Hayato's part if the noises are to be believed. Bianchi is sitting calmly on the porch, though; her pale green eyes flicker up to his own, and Takeshi wonders why she looks surprised to see him. Before he can open his mouth to apologise, though, she offers an explanation in an even voice.

"Your father explained that you were tired. He came by hours ago; don't worry about it, Takeshi."

"I'm so sorry, though. I-it's so close, and I still have so much to learn…"

Giving a small smile, she stands, nodding.

"I suggest we practise, then."

* * *

He decides, feet bare and pressed into the sand, that the beach is beautiful at night, though that could be the sake talking. The three of them are giddy, very tipsy, although Asari is still able to play the flute perfectly. Takeshi decides that his cousin is unfair to the rest of the male population, and decides to tell him so, earning snorts of amusement from Bianchi and a wide grin from Asari.

"What makes you think so?"

Flailing his hands wildly, he drops to the sand with an annoyed grunt, taking the bottle from Bianchi and taking another sip.

"..Do I have to have a reason for everything?"

"Yes." They chorus, and Takeshi sulks a little harder, thanks to being ganged up upon. Taking another long drink, he hands the bottle to Asari, manages to stand somehow and engages in a rather elaborate bow towards Bianchi, offering his hand.

"Will you join me for this dance?"

With a wide smile, she takes the hand and pulls herself off, spinning Takeshi and holding him as he normally holds her. Swaying a little as Asari allows himself a little chuckle, Takeshi bats his lashes at the woman, and ignores the jab she gives to his side.

"Which parts are you not confident with?"

Murmuring into his ear, Bianchi smiles, resting her forehead on his shoulder blade as they continue to sway, Asari providing a little background music as he runs through a few basic motifs, Takeshi hums for a moment.

"…Last minute rain… But I doubt we'd get far, con-considering the circumstances."

Hiccuping, he stops for a moment, before giggling gently, lulled into relaxation by her movements, the music and the waves lapping against the sand. Rolling her eyes, she twirls him to face her, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Are you doubting my teaching methods, Yamamoto Takeshi?"

"…No ma'am, not at all."

Grinning, she gives an approving nod, pulling his hands into position around his waist. Tilting her head to Asari, who gives a sharp note upon his ryuuteki while testing his ability to play each note, she waits for him to finish before speaking.

"Yazaru, Asari. Half the tempo, please."

"Gottit…"

Coughing gently, he takes a deep breath, shifts away from the nearest candle, and starts to play a tune, slow and gentle, the rolling of waves before the storm begins. As the arpeggios begin to rise, and as he picks out the crucial notes of a composition made for more than a simple flute, Bianchi gives Takeshi a reassuring smile, starting the frantic footwork at a reduced rate. Amber eyes track their feet, worried about standing upon her feet.

"Have a little confidence, Takeshi…"

Flickering his eyes upwards, he meets Bianchi's gaze with a worried frown. She's unusually gentle tonight, and he almost loves her for it, but that could be the alcohol talking. Moving a hand to cup his face, she tugs his head down to plant a kiss upon his forehead, dissolving into light laughter a moment later.

"You're a sweet kid, and a good dancer. Just focus a little more, and you will steal the show."

It feels like a dismissal if he's ever had one, but the raven can't bring himself to be upset about it; offering a sloppy grin, he nods, bowing a little and somehow managing to not bash their heads together, Takeshi straightens up, puts his hands into place and leads the dance. Gradually, Asari ups the tempo, until they are spinning, splitting the air with their movements and Takeshi can safely say he has never felt so fluid than right now. As they come to a halt, Bianchi dipped low and their breaths ragged, lips drop into smiles and Asari starts a slow clap, leaning back with the rest of the sake.

"Can I drink some more now?"

"Don't get comfortable, Asari, you're taking me home."

Giving a whiny moan, Asari stands, a little wobbly but much more competent at staying upright than the other two, sake bottle in one hand as he holds out his arm. Moving into it, Bianchi presses a kiss against his cheek and yawns, lifting a hand to wave to Takeshi as he sits once more.

"Don't stay up too late, kid."

"Yeah, yeah... See you tomorrow, Asari, Bianchi."

As they walk away, taking the drink with them, Takeshi sighs and begins the long process of sobering up. The sea lulls him into sleep quickly, though, and with the sleep of the drunk comes thoughts of quiescent, a gentle man with a deep voice and the world at the tip of his fingers. He doesn't dream, and he wakes not long after, the candles almost burned to the ground and the waves lapping at his feet; moaning gently, pushing himself up, he gives up after a moment, giving a wide yawn and nuzzling into the sand. When he gets some in his mouth, though, he cringes and sits up quickly, gagging and spitting out as much as he can. Disgusting…

That'll teach him for sleeping on a beach, though. Running a hand through his hair, he looks towards the sea for a while, contemplating getting in before remembering the chill of the water soaking his clothing. Going home at this time would only end up in trouble, with his father disappointed but not angry. Asari would cover for him anyway, as he has had to do in the past on occasion. Time flies by when you're thinking about the world, and a moment only lasts as long as you feel it. As he stares at the waves, he allows himself to relax, even as his mouth dries and the earth remains within.

With another satisfied sigh, he stretches his limbs out, pleasantly buzzes as the alcohol remains within his system. Starting to blow the candles out, one by one, he picks the final one up carefully, attention turning to the structure down the road. Maybe he can find refuge in the temple for tonight..? Though it feels disrespectful, his mind doesn't seem to mind, forcing him to walk barefoot and content to be so as the sands remain silky below his feet. As the temple looms closer, he grows weary, apparently more exhausted than he thought; the cold air on his wet body doesn't help, either, and while the candle is a flame, it is not quite enough to warm him.

Standing before the darkened structure, he remains completely still, letting the light flicker shadows into different formations but never daring to step in. He's dirty, right now… He's covered in sand, and he cannot bring himself to dirty this place of worship with his own selfish needs. Taking a seat instead, crossing his legs dutifully, he sets the candle down, bows his head and prays for favourable times to come. As a swooping shape drops onto his shoulder, he doesn't stir, knowing the sound of Jirou's wings through pure instinct by this point, yawning instead as the skylark makes itself comfortable on his shoulder. After a moment, Takeshi inhales, sharply, and leans back to watch the stars, mumbling an apology to the disturbed bird. A tweeting draws his attention towards the temple; Kojirou is pecking at the steps, and even in his drunk state, Takeshi hopes that his beak doesn't scratch the surface of them. It would be a terrible shame, after all… Scrunching his eyes closed as sleep threatens to overtake him, he digs his nails into the palms of his hands. Maybe he should go home after all, get a few hours of decent sleep before waking absurdly early to dance some more.

Opening his eyes again, now that his resolve is strengthened, he shivers, body verging on shutting down in protest. Taking a moment to focus his eyes on Kojirou, he frowns, finding the bird perched on the edge of a slim finger. Eyes widening, he panics, flailing a little; if he's caught in this state, his father will be shamed, the ceremony will be ruined, and he will most certainly be forced to do things he doesn't want to do to bring balance back to the force, to please the spirits and the elders. It occurs to him a moment later, catching glimpse of silver amongst the shadows, that he is probably going to pass out, thanks to the blood rushing through his system. As he proceeds to do so, an amused chuckle reaches his ears, and as he catches one last glimpse of God, Takeshi smiles.

* * *

"Takeshi!"

The vowels are drawn out with a glee he doesn't want to deal with, now that his head is starting to pound the way it is. Moaning softly, he flickers his eyes open, blinking a few times to encourage his vision to actually work. Tsunayoshi is sitting on his chest for some reason, and while he usually appreciates his grin, right now he'd just prefer to roll over and sleep again. Even so, he offers a weak smile, immediately cringing in pain.

"Morning, Tsuna.."

His voice is rough, like the rest of him, but the boy giggles nonetheless, shifting down to sit beside Takeshi. As he sits up, he's offered a glass of water, taking grateful sips, mind wondering just why the boy is here.

"Mama and your papa are having breakfast. I said I'd come wake you up."

Ah, well, that was a riddle solved, and he was starting to wonder if Tsunayoshi has some sort of psychic powers, but the boy has already grabbed his hand, tugging him up and towards the door.

"They're waiting!"

"Mmhm.."

Oh god his head, though… Shivering, tightening his clothing around himself, he has to stop and blink for a moment. How the hell did he get home..? Maybe he managed to stumble home somehow; he's done stranger things when intoxicated, after all. Maybe Asari came back to check on him, found him lying by the temple? Perhaps he'd never know. He should just be glad that he managed to get home before his father realised he was gone, right, and that he is miraculously unharmed, but there is a stinging sensation in his lips he's never quite felt before. As Tsunayoshi pulls him nearer to the room he and his father usually take tea with guests in, Takeshi spares a moment to run his tongue over them, finding them swollen. If he didn't know better, he would say they held the ghost of another's presence upon them, but that was ridiculous. Bar yet another hallucination brought on by alcohol this time, Takeshi hadn't come into contact with anyone. Maybe he was kissing his pillow in his sleep? That seemed pretty legitimate, actually. Yes. Must be that. Completely and totally one hundred percent pillow kissing has swollen his lips in the night.

"Takeshi, nice of you to join us."

Blinking, in a daze from his thoughts, amber eyes scan the room to find Nana Sawada sitting across from his father with cheeks a little too pink to be innocent. He doesn't really have the mental capacity to analyse it at the moment, though; bowing his head with an apologetic smile, he moves to sit opposite Tsunayoshi, who is digging into his breakfast with glee, rice grains flying everywhere. The adults don't seem to mind, though, so Takeshi doesn't know why he should. Pouring himself some tea, not quite in the mood to eat just yet, he takes a deep inhalation of the scent, sighing out with a content note.

"I'm sorry… Guess practising has tired me out more than usual."

Chuckling, Tsuyoshi pats his son's back in time to make him cough up the tiny sip he had taking; sending Nana a sheepish look, he wipes his mouth and attempts to swallow once more, grateful that his throat doesn't protest this time, and that no outside interference has occurred. Setting the cup down, he finally forces some food down, finding it delicious, a sure sign that Nana herself prepared this meal.

"Thank you, Mrs Sawada."

"Not at all."

Leaning over to wipe a stray grain of rice from the corner of Tsunayoshi's mouth, she offers Takeshi a smile that hurts in a way it probably shouldn't, but he's feeling more than a little sensitive of late. He's struck with a sudden longing, keen and sharp, deep down inside, to see his mother again, though he is aware of just how impossible it is.

"…Da-I-I mean, father…"

Dropping his voice to a whisper, he leans over to observe the raised eyebrow of his father up close.

"…If you have nothing for me to do, I-I… I'd like to go up to the meadow."

The shock appears for only a moment, replaced by a fond affection within seconds. Nodding, Tsuyoshi takes a sip of the miso, gesturing towards the garden afterwards.

"Take something special up with you, too. Pay your respects correctly, Takeshi."

"I will."

He wolfs his food down, thanks Nana for the meal and rushes to change, splashing his face with water from the washbasin. Taking a few of each flower in a slapdash bouquet, and taking a canteen full of water for the walk, Takeshi begins the walk to his mother's grave with a little too light of a heart for such a visit. By the time he arrives at the meadow that bears her cross, and many like it, his head is almost cleared of the night before, and his emotions are running erratic. Locating her grave, he bows, taking a seat, cross legged but in no way meaning any disrespect. Keeping a fond smile on his lips even as a flicker of regret grows within, he takes a white Tsubaki in hand and begins to peel the petals off, one by one.

He should talk to her, right? He should inform her of the everyday occurrences, but… Wouldn't she know that, looking down upon them for the rest of eternity? Such sempiternal occurrences seem more like a curse, having to watch the suffering you bring upon your loved ones with no way of helping them. Should Takeshi pass away, he'd like to think he would be reincarnated as something helpful to the world; imagine if he could become a cloud, full of rain, ready to shower his village with the blessing they pray for when they need it and not a moment before. If he could be of such a use, then maybe the utterances of the elders weren't to be ignored. Maybe Takeshi could be special, different, meant for something more, were he able to control the weather in some way.

He is human, though, a boy with responsibilities impossible to ignore. As dearly as he would like to up sticks and roam the world for a method of defying nature to bring prosperity to the people he loved, he couldn't. He was here to serve them as they were to respect him, and to leave would be to lose the trust brought with generational support.

"…I'm scared, Mother…"

Giving a gentle laugh, he closes his eyes and takes a fresh Tsubaki, this time yellow, to tear apart. With a shuddering breath, he leans forward to rest his head against the marker.

"I want to please dad, but… Well, I want to make my own way as well, you know?"

Leaning back again, he opens his eyes, starting to thread flowers through stems in an attempt to make a chain of some sort. It's sloppy, but somehow, he manages to weave suisen into a wreath. Beginning to pepper the yellow with supporting colours, his laugh is mirthless.

"I think I'm going crazy."

The thought has been playing on his mind for weeks; the occurrences seem like simple dreams but delusions are easily brought on by pressure. He may not be a medical man, and he may not be that knowledgeable in general, but the thought made more and more sense with each passing day. He only saw the man when vulnerable, and generally, when people day dreamed about the embodiment of all they wanted to be with in life, Takeshi gathered that they didn't deem the people God. Godlike, perhaps, but never fully divine.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe everyone was wrong, about him, about life, about worshiping rather than perfecting methods to survive. Maybe this was all one big joke on his part, but Takeshi was so unsure he was sure that nothing was as it seemed right now. Leaning back, resting his head upon his arms, he sighs as the world spins around him. His thoughts have shaken his world, rumbling through his body, nausea rising as the thoughts sink in and-the world actually is shaking. Sitting up quickly, he glances around, worried expression firmly in place. The markers around him are wobbling, the earth jerking below his feet, and the realisation that his village is about to collapse hits him harder than anything could.

"I'm sorry, Mum, I have to-"

Stumbling to his feet, he sprints, flat out runs as fast as his feet can carry him back down the path towards the rising noises of terror, falling flat on his face more than once as the tremors grow stronger. His mind is blanked out by fright, terror, emotions primal and all too instinctual, and the tune his feet beats to is a screamed prayer for safety, and, above all else, life. Rounding the final corner, he arrives in time to see the roof of the Mochida's residence collapse, closing his eyes tight at the telltale screams from within. They were a mere two weeks from temple, yet God was passing premature judgement upon them all.

Gritting his teeth, ignoring every pain filled response to now open gashes on his knees, legs, thighs, palms, he rushes over to rummage through the rubble. Someone is at his side, screaming for him to get to safety as the earth below their feet scrapes together, but Takeshi cannot stop, not when he can hear the tell tale cry of the Mochida son wailing below them. Similar noises come from all over their village; grabbing the hand of the boy, pulling him from the wreckage and cradling him against his chest, he murmurs words of encouragement in a surprisingly calm voice, and hopes the sobbing boy doesn't blame him when the crumpled bodies of his parents below never wake from eternal slumber.

As Kyoko stumbles over, Ryohei in her arms, Takeshi's heart sinks. The look in her eyes brings news of suffering, and as the earth continues to tremble, he knows the victim count will never stop at just two. Takeshi has never been a particularly vengeful minded person, but his hands would gladly sink into the throat of the person bringing this upon them; they offer so much trust, yet they are all still mortal, protected by their faith and faith offers a flimsy shield against natural forces.

"Take him for me, and head up to the meadow. You'll be safer up there. I'll send whoever I find that way too."

"Takeshi, you can't-"

"Kyoko."

Making sure the crying boy was firmly in her care, he ruffles Ryohei's hair; if the circumstances were any less dire, he would probably spare a moment to think about how unusual it was to see the young lad so quiet, but pale cheeks and terrified eyes were not the thing of amusement. Moving his attention to Kyoko as the tremors grow increasingly violent, he rests a hand upon her cheek and kisses her forehead in a manner meant to reassure.

"I will be fine. Go. Before it gets worse."

She bites her lip, face scrunched in disagreement, but the two lives she is now in charge of are obviously enough to deter her from argument. With a squeeze of his hand, she is gone, carrying the boys to safety as the village continues to collapse. From here, he can see homes toppling like cards, though thankfully, many of the people he has grown to care about as extended family seem to be milling around in a state of panic. Running swiftly towards them all, dodging debris as it falls, he leaps onto an elevated platform made from the rubble of the well and cups his hands around his mouth.

"Head for the meadow! Elevated land is our best chance at this moment in time!"

For when the earth rumbles, the waves rise. Turning as his words are obeyed, his eyes resort to terror as he watches the ocean, balance disrupted as the water rolls in formations he's never seen. In the horizon, water is teeming, massing into a wall, travelling ever nearer. As panic sets in, the screams fade into the distance as his mind focuses. Scanning those he can see, he comes to the horrifying conclusion that the majority of them won't be able to outrun the waves. A house collapses within a finite space, but water is uncontrollable.

A word, a name plays on the edge of his mind, and as he tries to focus on helping those who cannot help themselves, Jirou glides to his shoulder. Kojirou is nowhere to be seen, and Takeshi can only spare a moment to hope to high heaven that the little guy has reached safety. Voices are teeming in his head, and he becomes aware of the truth in his thoughts of not ten minutes ago. He is crazy, and watching the suffering of those you love is indeed the worst occurrence of the sempiternal life could throw at you.

A crashing noise breaks through his thoughts, though it is replaced by ringing a mere moment later, disequilibrium driving his mind to seek solace elsewhere. He is dizzy, sick to his stomach and the day will not be getting better any time soon. Most of the village has collapsed by this point, including his own home, but he can't put his own aching need to make sure his father is okay above the lives of those possibly trapped. The wave is coming closer with each moment that passes, and Takeshi is starting to realise the sheer enormity of it. It towers higher than anything he could imagine, and he has no doubt of just how much damage it could do.

"Takeshi Yamamoto."

His delusions appear to be coming to life before his eyes, for right before him the Raven stands. His eyes widen in shock, before his body moves to hostile, gaze sharpened and fists clenched.

"You did this," He spits out, almost choking on an unwanted sob in his voice. "We pray to you, and you leave us when we need you."

Their God rolls his eyes, all too casual for this moment of impending doom, and Takeshi can't help but fly towards him with distressed revenge on his mind. The Raven easily spins the attack's power away, hands sliding around Takeshi's waist and arm respectively. They both face the water as he begins to murmur into the boy's ear, voice calm, even, though somehow the tone of annoyance with Takeshi's petulance still rings clear.

"Do not punish me for your misconceptions. I have never claimed to be your God, but I am here to take responsibility. Do not make me regret my decision to help you, or to withdraw my aid."

Growling, Takeshi soon dissolves into full blown distress, terrified near-sobs leaving him as he struggles against the Raven's iron grip. For now, he understands the nature of the being behind him, and he understands why they worship him as a god for the control he may hold over lives. His grandfather was always fond of tales teaching Takeshi that Death wears a welcoming mask, but he had underestimated the sheer brilliance of the façade hiding the demon within.

"I need to save them."

"And you can. It'll take just one simple word on your behalf."

"That's not helpful!"

Distress and rage are fluctuating, and his desperate attempts to get free bring a painful twist to his arm that is entirely his own fault. The word is burrowed in his mind, rattling around brain cells and echoing in his ears, but the white noise blanks out everything. There is too much going on, an over saturation of stimuli and he simply can't focus on the most important thing of all. The wave is beginning to cast a shadow over them; the hand on his stomach moves to his chin, and as Takeshi continues to struggle against the constraints of a human mind, Death kissed him, slow and sweet. Time slows to a stop, and each second passes as an eternity; as they pull apart, the boy is surprised, truly astonished to find that he has not crumbled into dust by the passage of time. As he opens his eyes, opened onto the gaze of firm assurance, a word trips off the edge of his tongue, a saccharine promise of forever bound together.

"_Kyouya_…"

Giving a reassuring nod, lips moving to give a gentle encouragement of their own, Death murmurs 'louder'.

"Kyouya."

Gentle encouragement becomes a ravenous grin, and as Death devours his mouth, Takeshi finds his energy slipping away, bit by bit. 'Again' reaches his ears as his own soft pants sound in the vacuum they are held in, 'louder' a reverb in the backdrop.

"Kyouya," He speaks, clearly, hands gripping onto Death's wrists, "Kyouya, save them."

It doesn't seem to be enough just yet, and Takeshi gives a soft growl of impatience, knowing the wave will be upon them at any time. Giving an amused huff of air, Death kisses firmer for a moment, pulling away with a tongue slicked with another's juices.

"…Louder, Takeshi."

Scrunching his eyes closed, gritting his teeth, he takes a deep breath and shouts, screams the name. By the time the final syllable has left his throat, he is almost gone, wasting away in a dimension that should not exist. His body accepts Death as a support, and as Takeshi closes his eyes and embraces the darkness once more, the fluttering of wings is all he can hear.

* * *

The sound of the sea wakes him up, water from a towel upon his head drizzling down into little pools where his eyes should be. He doesn't dare check that they still exist; his body is tight with tension, yet Takeshi knows that to attempt to move would bring pain unlike anything he has ever felt. His limbs are sore, and his muscles cry out for exercise; even opening his eyelids is close to torture, but when he manages the feat, he is greeted with the sleeping face of Death, and the interior of the temple. Kojirou slumbers upon the Raven's head, nuzzled in tight, and Takeshi almost manages to smile at the sight, but pain triumphs over all other emotions.

As he twitches, jerking a little at the pain rising up, Death wakes without any hesitation, moving seamlessly to kneel beside the boy's side. Trailing his fingertips along an exposed arm, the hand moves in slow circles as he moves to look over Takeshi from a different perspective.

"…Look at me."

He tries to mumble out 'can't', but he doesn't have the energy for even that, body jerking, jolting, shaking. Giving an annoyed sigh, Death rolls his eyes, leans over and joins their lips. Takeshi doesn't have time to comment, simply slumping into a daze, on the verge of sleep again, but something about Death's touch keeps him alert enough to talk.

"You're a pain."

The pain itself has stopped throbbing, and his mind is suspiciously clear; as Takeshi opens his eyes to watch the other, his gaze is unforgiving, resentful, betrayed, and Death decides he will never be able to understand humans, no matter how long he spends watching. After a suspiciously long silence, Takeshi turns away, unable to keep eye contact nor particularly wanting to.

"…Dad is dead, isn't he?"

Once every so often, the deity is pleasantly surprised by perceptiveness, though it remains a shame that such a trait should occur only in times of great distress. The Raven begins to nod, only to be met by the sight of Takeshi's back. Sighing below his breath, he leans over to press a gentle kiss against the ridge of Takeshi's spine, tracing down the curve of it and drawing an involuntary shiver from the boy.

"…He has passed on."

As Takeshi dissolves into tears, Death simply waits, encircling him in a warm embrace and riding out the waves of emotions. As Takeshi turns to stumble over words of distress, Death remains calm, loosening his grip and ghosting his lips across red cheeks. As the cries turn to weeps, and Takeshi crumbles, Death reassures with hands readily caressing, holding him firmly. Grieving is something he knows passes with time, and for the one who called his name, he will spare all the time in the world. The weeps quiet to weak sobs, and then Takeshi runs dry, eyes open but not seeing and face newly creased. Death runs his lips along these folds, smoothing them out, pulling away to find the boy asleep beside him. He continues to wait, his presence offering a peace of mind that grants a dreamless sleep. His eyes stay open, staring at the walls of his temple, and he simply lies there, holding bereavement close. Death often comes hand in hand with Empathy, but never have they been close enough to touch, in proximity enough for their lips to brush and their hips to press into each other's.

* * *

Erosion is a natural force, but the term doesn't just refer to the process of wearing down natural resources and landmasses. It can signify a change in a person, in a sentient being, and as Takeshi binds Kyouya to Earth forever, Death becomes Benevolence.

* * *

If anyone managed to read this all, thank you for reading, and I'm sorry ;w;

I'd love to hear opinions though~


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